"She will see me," returned Jim, with an air of dignity; and he walked into the parlour that had an atmosphere of twilight, quite determined to remain until she came down.
She seemed in no hurry, and Jim's temper began to loose its serenity. The maid came and lighted the gas jet in the hall. Then there was a rustle of silken garments on the stair.
"Oh, Jim dear," the entreating voice said, "I've had such a horrid headache all the afternoon. I've been in the bed. I really did not feel fit to see any one," with a languid, indifferent air.
And Williamson had just gone away!
"So you will excuse me, if I'm stupid—"
"Is the story true about your—your engagement?" asked the young fellow, abruptly.
"My engagement? Well, I've had an offer of marriage,—two of them. Wouldn't you advise me to take the best one?" rather archly.
The tone rang flippantly. Jim felt she was evading.
"You see I can't be young always. And Aunt Nicoll may go without a moment's warning. She had a bad spell yesterday; and she does get in such horrid tantrums! Mother is awfully tired of staying with her. And most girls get married—those who have a chance." She ended with a forced little laugh.
"Is it Williamson? You don't know the sort of man he is," and Jim's voice was husky with emotion.